Collection Of Short Stories

Waiting For Retribution

When I was eighteen, I couldn't wait to get out of that town. I had been living a life which I never could have imagined for myself. I needed to get away. Away from the stares, away from the memories, away from the continuous murmurs which seemed to follow me like a shadow.

'Is that the girl who...?'

'Yeah, her brother...'

And so on, and so forth.The ramblings of a small town. A small town in which I had been the first person to successfully keep a secret in years. Until recently.

'Eleven more months.' I'd tell myself. 'Eleven more months, and I'm out of here.'

They couldn't pass fast enough.

Sure, there were things I'd miss when I left; the riding school, the horses, my friends, my job, my teachers... Yeah, I know, 'teachers pet!' But hey! It's not often that you find teachers who joke about as much as you do.

I'm Claire by the way. I'm almost twenty-two now and I've been told by my therapist to write a journal about what happened, and then burn it. After that, I'm meant to bury the ashes with the seed of my favourite flower. Something about 'growing good from bad.' So sorry paper, when this is finished, you're toast. But look on the bright side, you'll help me grow a pretty flower!

Anyway, random thoughts aside. My therapist is odd, always saying odd things. She's very waiflike, like those annoying therapists you see in movies. I swear, the woman needs more therapy than I do!

So. Why is Claire so eager to leave town? I hear you ask. Well, it's not pleasant. But, in the words of my (slightly insane) therapist:

'Paper always wants to know the secrets of the heart.'

I know that it sounds sweet, but really, we're both simply tired of me reciting the speech that is 'talking about my feelings.'

Anyway, back to the point. I want to leave town because of my brother. My brother, Jack, the superficial, triple-personality freak-of-nature, is the biggest psycopath to have walked the earth. This kid gave Sweeney Todd a run for his money, no joke.

For years I had put up with what was happening at home. By the time I realised that it wasn't right, it was too late.

Let me explain. Our house is weird. It's a bungalow. That's not what's weird about it. The weird part is that it has two basements, one below the other. Jack practically built one of them. He used to think that there was buried treasure down there. It used to be just a box rom. Very simple. A single bulb hanging from the ceiling, and one plug socket. But one day, jack was digging and the wall collapsed, missing him of course, revealing an underground lake and cave, not much bigger than the original room. He, being a freak, moved his things down there and claimed the remnants of the old room as his own. His own personal Bat-Cave, if you like. Only it was tiny... And it wasn't decked out with technology... And he didn't have a car... Or a hovercraft... And he wasn't awesome like Batman... And there were no bats.

Why did my parents let him dig in the basement? Well... What can I say about my parents? They both worked overseas, they had for years, leaving us having to raise ourselves. Let's just say that they don't understand what 'being a parent' entails. So I guess we both kinds of expected it. Even after what happened, they still left me alone. I guess it was good that I grew up, used to dealing with things, fast.

So, one day, I went down, through the first basement and into the second, to his room. I wanted to ask about dinner (I love food), and I went in without knocking. I found him sitting on the floor, facing the lake, with his legs crossed. There was the occasional dripping noise from the ceiling, like something had recently caused a big splash. His shirt lay crumpled on the floor next to him.